Tears of Pearl

aside, then scrunched the ends of my pillow and dropped my elbows in the center of it, resting my chin on my hands. “But perhaps that’s precisely what he is.”

“If only I’d been there to defend you.”

“Rest assured I have no need of rescuing.”

“I’m well aware of that.” He pulled the pillow out from under me, rolled onto my back, and kissed my neck, the feeling of his legs against the backs of mine bliss itself. “But I do think, my dear, that you underestimate the value of being saved from dire circumstances. You might find it more than a little titillating.”

“I promised you no unnecessary danger, and you must promise me no rescues.”

“I wish you’d rescue me,” he said, biting my ear.

“Stop. I’m being serious,” I said.

“I’m all too aware of it. It’s not so glamorous and invigorating as you think, necessary danger.”

“When have you known me to yearn for glamour?”

“Every morning when you dress.”

“Please, Colin, don’t tease me,” I said. “I need to know that you support what I’m doing.”

“I do. But I can’t say I’m without concern.”

“I’m still waiting for my Derringer.”

“It shall be our first order of business upon returning to England.” He laughed, shook his head. “This is a conversation I never would have thought I’d have with my spouse.”

“Would you prefer an ordinary wife?”

“Never,” he said, kissing me until he could have had no doubt that all serious thoughts had taken flight from my brain. I was so carried away that I hardly noticed the door had creaked open, then slammed shut, then creaked again.

“Madam?” Meg’s voice was low. “There’s a Mr. Sutcliffe here to see Mr. Hargreaves. Says it’s urgent.”

“Tell him I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Colin said, heaving a sigh. As soon as she’d closed the door, he kissed me again. “We shall continue this later.”

“I’m not sure I can wait.”

“Which, first, makes me adore you all the more, and second, will make it that much better when we reconvene.”

He pulled away, leaving me aching while he dressed, and I did not call for Meg to assist me with my own ablutions until after he’d gone downstairs. I submitted to her ministrations with little pleasure, wanting nothing but my husband. It did not help that she was severe with my hair—my scalp screamed in protest—and fought a valiant battle with my corset, pulling harder than usual to force my waist into submission. The end result pleased her but left me feeling a keen discomfort as I joined the gentlemen on the terrace.

“Good morning, Mr. Sutcliffe,” I said. They were sitting at a table next to the water, a chessboard stretched between them. Colin had opened with the Queen’s Gambit, two pawns moving to take control of the center of the board.

“A true pleasure to see you again, Lady Emily.” Mr. Sutcliffe bent a silver gray head over my hand.

“I’m sorry to have interrupted your game.” I studied the board. “I’d suggest you accept his gambit. It’s not without risk. You’ll lose control of the center, but if you play it right, you’ll open yourself up to a greater freedom as the game goes on.”

“Just who are you supporting in this match, my dear?” Colin asked.

“We had only just begun to pass the time until you arrived and would not dream of continuing now that you’ve joined us,” Mr. Sutcliffe said. “I told your husband that, with his permission, I would like to speak to both of you, as it appears you’re equally embroiled in this dreadful business at the palace. I’m concerned in the extreme about Sir Richard.”

“We all are,” I said.

“The loss of his daughter is a blow from which he may not recover. I’ve seen it too often—not just from my own experience, but in the charity work I do to support families whose children have succumbed to illness. Often poverty is a mitigating factor—bettering their situations may serve to prevent more loss. At least that’s what I tell myself.”

“An admirable position,” Colin said.

“I cannot stand to see anyone suffer what I have. But when I think of Richard... Do you really think it wise to fuel his belief that the Ottomans have arrested the wrong man?”

“I’ve seen nothing that suggests he’s guilty,” Colin said. “And if he’s not—”

Mr. Sutcliffe shook his head and held up a hand. “I want my friend to have peace, and I’m full of fear that this investigation will give him nothing but the opposite.”

“How can he know peace until he finds out what happened to his daughter?” I asked.

“You think it’s possible to determine that?”

“It’s impossible to say at the moment,” Colin said. “Best case would be finding some physical evidence that links a suspect to the crime.”

“Wouldn’t that already have been apparent? Surely the guards would have seen it that night?”

“Oversights are made with horrifying frequency,” my husband said.

“So it’s not too late?” Mr. Sutcliffe asked.

“Not necessarily,” Colin replied, his voice all breezy confidence. “We’re taking every possible measure.”

“I can’t see the old boy hurt further. This is the sort of pain that can ruin a man.”

“I don’t think he’s verging on that territory,” I said.

“No? He’s coming completely unhinged and making more mistakes at his work than the ambassador will be able to tolerate for long. I assure you, Lady Emily, my concerns are well-founded. I’m doing all I can to help, but there are limits.”

“You’re a good friend,” I said.

“I’m far too familiar with his pain,” Mr. Sutcliffe said, “and hope that prolonging this investigation won’t make it harder for him. He’s been through quite enough.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” I said. “And in an attempt to speed the process along, I’m afraid I must excuse myself. I’m expected at Yıldız.”

“I wish you all luck,” Mr. Sutcliffe said. “Physical evidence, Lady Emily. I’ll be crossing fingers that you find some.”

I thanked him, gave Colin a quick kiss, and stepped off the patio onto a waiting boat. Once again, the ride was interminable to my churning stomach, set in motion this time not only by the rough water, but by anxiety. I’d sent a note to Perestu, who had arranged for me to go to the hamam, agreeing that it might persuade the concubines I was someone they could trust. She’d promised to send English-speaking girls who knew Ceyden to talk to me. The prospect of bathing with untold numbers of total strangers was horrific, but I hoped to uncover some information of use.

Inside the harem, I followed a guard to the concubines’ hamam, where I was handed off to a bath attendant, an elderly woman who spoke no English but managed to communicate to me that her name was Melek. She ushered me into a tiny dressing room, pantomiming actions that could only suggest I was to remove my clothing. In a matter of moments, she had whisked my dress over my head and turned her attentions to my corset. I was two shades from mortification, a condition not helped in the least when I realized that the towel—tiny and made from the thinnest-possible cotton—she was handing me would provide all the cover I was to get. She slipped wooden-soled clogs onto my feet and motioned for me to follow her.

Hobbling behind her, I focused on keeping my feet from sliding on the slick marble floor while at the same time gripping my toes lest the slippers fly off. She opened a wooden door and led me into a large, domed room made entirely of gray marble. The temperature was warmer than in the outer chamber, but not so hot as to be uncomfortable. Evenly spaced washbasins lined the perimeter, their faucets fashioned in elaborately patterned bronze. Marble benches ran continuously between the sinks, and on them sat more than a dozen women of the harem, all of them completely unclothed.

So shocked was I by this sight that I did not notice my attendant pulling my less than adequate towel away from me, leaving me in the same vulnerable state. I leapt for the nearest bench, falling onto it in a manner lacking any and all grace. Melek picked up a silver bowl, filled it in the basin, and dumped steaming water over my head. She repeated this several times before handing it to me and motioning for me to continue myself.